


Tender is the Night

by jenniferjun1per



Series: Rebelcaptain Fanfiction Fridays [3]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-06 02:58:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11591511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenniferjun1per/pseuds/jenniferjun1per
Summary: Cassian and Jyn deal with the aftermath of an argument.





	Tender is the Night

**Author's Note:**

> For @therebelcaptainnetwork‘s Fanwork Fridays

It’s night when he decides to come home, dark and deep and quiet. He enters their apartment, hazy light from the neon street lamps casting transient shadows into the room. Pausing only for a moment to drop his keys and take off his shoes, he moves with singular purpose into the bedroom. Her form lies peaceful in sleep, facing away from him, the gauzy curtains fluttering from a breeze through the open window. Sounds from the city streets filter in, but he only has ears for her, for the sound of her soft breathing. The sheets rustle as he slips into bed behind her.

 

“Where have you been?” she means it to be a question, but there’s still a hint of hurt in her voice.

 

“I’m sorry.” It’s the first thing he says, the only thing he means, even when he’d left with a slam of the door he’d already meant it. It had only been pride and hurt that made him wander the city streets until night fell, until the darkness and stillness had settled a calm within him.

 

There’s a beat, a pause where he can hear a car honk in the distance, the old couple laughing faintly on the balcony above.

 

“I’m sorry too,” she says, and then she’s turning towards him, the blanket falling away from her shoulders. The faint light from the street lamp casts an ethereal glow to her skin, and he can’t resist running the pads of his fingers lightly over the curve of her bare shoulder.

 

“Jyn, I--”

 

She doesn’t let him finish, puts a finger to his lips, but there’s sorrow in her eyes, and regret, but underlying that there’s always love. He imagines he must have the same look, because he slips his arms around her and she lets him, lets him hold her, settles against his chest and exhales deeply.

 

He knows she wants him to drop it, won’t let him talk or explain or hash out the emotions of the argument anymore. He knows when morning comes, she’ll get up and make coffee and ask him if he’ll need a ride into work that day, or tell him to start dinner without her because she’ll be working late. She’ll do it all with a faint undercurrent of something heavy, eyes averted too soon, touches short and kisses even shorter. It’s the residue she needs to process on her own, and he understands it. 

 

For now he holds her, the night closing in, as the street lamps go off one by one. The city settles into a peaceful slumber, the noises faint and fading away. Her breathing evens out as he strokes her hair, fragrant and damp from the shower, and he leans down and presses his lips softly, tenderly to her forehead.


End file.
